


broken before breakfast

by sharkplant



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cuddles, M/M, Nightmares, Series Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkplant/pseuds/sharkplant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will panics and ends up at Hannibal's door in the middle of the night. Post-<i>Roti</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	broken before breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest, I felt awkward writing this at first because I was a little confused on the dynamic between Will and Hannibal but after _Roti_ , it became a lot easier to write. Dedicated to [chesapeaque](http://www.chesapeaque.tumblr.com) on tumblr as she help order my thoughts. Un-beta'd as always. Read on [tumblr](http://sangetsel.tumblr.com/post/52435129439/fic-broken-before-breakfast)

_The ravenstag never speaks._

_Just walks through his dreams and more recently in reality, red eyes soul seeing yet never judging._

_A guide, a follower and bystander._

_Will is none of these things._

_Will is a wanderer._

_Will is walking._

_Will is walking on the rain damp road that went past, away from and to his house._

_Will is walking until he isn’t._

_The ravenstag stands, breathing in front of him, feathers jostling amongst others, amongst fur, eyes red but fading to white and totally dead._

_‘You’re broken, Will Graham,’ it says in a thousand voices._

_‘You can’t fix yourself,’ says Alana; ‘As much as I need you, you need to go,’ says Crawford; ‘You’re just a killer,’ says Abigail; ‘My killer,’ says Garrett Jacob Hobbs; ‘And mine,’ says Able Gideon; ‘You’re insane,’ says Freddie Lounds: all their eyes dead, with a pair of antlers and a tuff of feathers sticking out of their heads, blood running down from them_

_‘You’re broken, Will Graham,’ it says in a thousand voices along with his own, ‘and your biggest problem is right in front of you.’_

_And it isn’t the ravenstag standing, breathing in front of him, feathers jostling amongst others, amongst fur, eyes red but fading to white and totally dead._

_It’s everyone, even the ravenstag, limbs splayed unnaturally, skin translucent under the moon, eyes and lips locked into an eternal scream with himself at the centre; arms, shirt, pants soaked and dripping with blood, face and glasses spattered with it and his mouth is grinning._

 

He wakes with a jolt, sitting straight up in sweat-clinging sheets, trying to force air into unaccepting lungs.

He fumbles for his glasses, his lamp, his pills.

When he can’t find any of them, he swings his legs over the edge, planted his feet on the floor and put his head in his hands, fingers creeping into his hair and tugging lightly at the strands.

He sucks in a breath through his nose and glances at the alarm on the nightstand.

‘It’s 1:28 in the morning, I’m in Wolf Trap, Virginia and my name is Will Graham,’ he says more to the empty space than himself. He says it rarely. But he feels a little better even so.  
Although it isn’t enough to go back to sleep.

He watches the little numbers change, thinking maybe blue LED might lull him back to some safe place, just until dawn where he can start pretending again because he cannot lie to darkness because darkness knows him better than himself.

He knows when the clock reads 1:43 that it’s not going to happen.

He changes his shirt, tugs on a sweater, shoves his feet into shoes, keys and pills in his pocket, glasses on his face and it was only then does he slow down, and tip toe out, as to not wake the dogs.

+++ 

The door opens after three rings and a bit of bashing on the door.

Hannibal raises an eyebrow. ‘Will. I’m uncertain if I should be saying good night or good morning. What are you doing here?’

Will looks at his feet, and the door. Really anywhere that isn’t Hannibal’s face. 

If Hannibal looks concerned, Will doesn’t see it. ‘Have you lost time?’

Will shakes his head, determined. ‘I was completely aware driving here.’

‘Then why are you here?’ Hannibal asks again.

‘I panicked,’ Will admits.

‘And why did you panic?’

Will tries to grapple an answer but becomes distracted.

‘Why are you still wearing a waistcoat and shirt? It’s 2:30 in the morning.’

Hannibal quirks a smile. ‘I was reading. I must have lost track of time. Perhaps you should come in, Will.’

He nods and steps into the house.

‘Would you like a drink?’

Will shakes his head.

‘So something happened and you drove into the next state over to tell me?’

Will shrugs. ‘Like I said; I panicked.’

‘Like you said,’ Hannibal affirms, taking the lead toward the lounge and motioning for Will to sit. ‘Why me?’

‘Because I’m still on some kind of ice with Alana and I didn’t want to disturb her.’

‘Ms Katz?’ Hannibal offers.

‘It wasn’t a crime scene.’

‘I ask again, why did you panic?’

Will takes a deep breath, exhales and is a little surprised to hear no words with it.  
He tries again.

‘You know I have nightmares pretty much every night?’

Hannibal nods. 

‘Well this one was,’ Will freezes looking for the best word, ‘different.’

‘What happened in the dream, Will?’

He clenches and unclenches his jaw for a bit, hearing it click, tries to smile before giving up. ‘There is this stag, but it has feather instead of fur in some places and it’s always there in my dreams, it doesn’t matter what happens, it’s just this constant even if what happens isn’t.

‘I dreamt I was walking along the road from my house and for a second I thought I was sleepwalking but then there was the stag in front of me and for the first time it spoke.’

‘What did it say?’ Hannibal prompts.

‘That I was broken, but then it became everyone else and said that I couldn’t be fixed, that I was a killer, that I was insane. ‘ the tension in Will’s voice almost snaps.  
‘Everyone else?’

‘Jack, Alana, Able Gideon, Freddie Lounds, Abigail, Garrett Jacob Hobbs,’ Will lists, starting to shake a little, ‘Me.’

‘You?’

Will nods. ‘At the very end, I heard myself in there and then I saw myself, coated in blood like I’d been painting a house,’ his voice cracks, ‘surrounded by everyone dead.’ 

He half chokes on his next breath. 

‘I’m worried that-that I’m going to snap or get so lost in what’s happening or lose time to the degree where I end up hurting someone,’ he hiccups a bit of a laugh, passing his face through his hands, ‘I am so fucking far down the rabbit hole I can’t even see the sun and there is no light down here,’ he spits, oblivious to the few tears rolling hot down his cheeks. 

‘I am so done with being treated like china when I’ve already been shattered a thousand times before. I am sick of being broken,’ it starts out as a huff, but it ends with a yell, ‘I don’t want to be broken!’ arms wrapping around himself vice-tight.

He feels stupid, you don’t invite yourself over to people’s houses and cry all over their furniture. He tries to stop crying but he just hiccups and keeps going and he hates it and the lack of control and  
Hannibal takes a moment. ‘Will, this may seem like a very odd request, but as your friend, would you like a hug?’

Of all the odd things Hannibal has ever said in Will’s hearing, this certainly takes the cake.

Nonetheless.

Will nods.

It’s less a hug than Hannibal letting Will know he’s there, because Will’s arms are wrapped so tight around his middle until he stops protecting himself and clutches at Hannibal’s arm.  
And he feels like a child leaning into it but it’s less awkward and he lets himself cry into Hannibal’s shoulder.

‘It is 2:37 AM, you are in Baltimore, Maryland, your name is Will Graham and you are safe,’ Hannibal murmurs.

Will just gives himself over the sobbing.

And he’s a world away when he half notices that Hannibal smells like sandalwood and soap. He does feel safe.

Will tries breathing through his nose when the tears die away, leaving his face sore. Hannibal pulls away.

‘Do you feel any better?’

Will nods and shrugs, wiping his nose and searching through his pockets for his little pill bottle, popping two before saying, ‘I hope I didn’t ruin your shirt.’  
‘I have other shirts,’ Hannibal assures, getting up and Will wants to follow him, like he’s being pulled by a string. ‘Stay there.’  
Will stays.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Getting you blankets. I would not only be a terrible doctor but also friend if I didn’t insist that you sleep, or at the very least stay, the rest of the night here.’

Hannibal puts the bed clothes on the edge of the loveseat and leaves for the kitchen; Will sets about making a bed, putting down a duvet to protect the upholstery from getting drenched in the sweat Will knows he’s going to wake up in.

Hannibal returns with a cup and saucer in hand. ‘Peppermint. With a little sugar and milk to help you sleep,’ he remarks, offering it to a doubtful Will.

He takes it but doesn’t drink. It feels a little too hot so he rests it on the coffee table, at least for the moment.

‘I will be in my study, down the hallway from the kitchen should you require me.’

Will smiles but it comes off as more of a flat line. ‘Thanks, Hannibal.’

Hannibal nods. ‘Goodnight, Will,’ the light leaving with him.

Will doesn’t move until he can’t hear any footsteps and even so, his movements are slow and jilted.

He yawns and rubs at his eyes, pulls off his sweater, empties his pockets, swallows the tea.

When he finally pulls the blankets over, Will feels like he’s infecting everything he touches and feels colder with the sheets than without.  
One second he misses the dogs, the next he’s under.

+++ 

He wakes up to the smell of eggs and bacon and possibly cinnamon.

Throwing off the blankets and pulling on his sweater, (which feels worse with the warmth of the extra layer than before because his shirt is still drenched and it sticks to his skin further if that was possible), he pads into the kitchen; Hannibal moving between whisking eggs to frying slices of bread.

‘Good morning, Will. I hope you slept well?’

Will stands, unsure where he is meant to fit. ‘I slept better than I usually do.’  
‘No bad dreams?’

‘No bad dreams.’

‘Would you like a drink? Coffee? I have more peppermint tea if you would like?’

‘Um, coffee, please.’

Hannibal nods over to a bench. ‘Help yourself. I just made a fresh pot.’

There is already a mug sitting by the machine. Will leans against the bench.

‘I knew you ate French food, but-‘ he jokes, trailing off.

‘Some mornings, I think that breakfast is the most important meal. Others I just see it as the first course of the day.’

‘And today is one of the latter,’ Will finishes, having a gulp of coffee.

‘If anything, this is more for your sake. And I haven’t made French toast in a long while.’

There are a few beats of no conversation, just the sizzling of food.

‘Do you get any sleep last night?’

Hannibal shakes his head. ‘No. I wanted to be awake in case you needed me.’

Will doesn’t know what to say.

‘Would you be willing to help me?’ Hannibal asks, flipping slices of French toast and a couple rashes of bacon over in the pan.

Will shrugs, putting down the mug. ‘I guess.’

‘Could you slice some bread and soak them in the egg, please?’

Will nods and moves over the Hannibal’s side of the island.

‘You’re trusting me with a knife?’

‘Other than myself, no one I trust more.’

He nicks his finger and sucks on the blood while Hannibal finds a bandaid, but other than that, the morning is uneventful; they eat and Hannibal makes a reference to when they first sat down to a meal and how god forbid should they become friendly.

I’m glad we did, he thinks driving home.


End file.
